Spiritualism

A water-bearing poet floats visions, senses voice and intuits vibration, but feels only the air of separation, abandonment and rejection. He drags his sullied heart behind him; tethered to his ankle, the throbbing muscle struggles like a cat on a leash, he sometimes studying it like the ocean in distant admiration but fearful of submersion. His pen inks the air blue.

An earthen essayist eats hollow olives for iron strength, the muddiness of her thoughts offset by the rootedness of her haunches and firm stand, feet imprinting her path. She throws tentative velvet brown stares, intending intimacy but coming up comfortable in a circle of cool, relaxed open-eyed, open-legged hug-slump of a girl.

They too can dance the breezy corridors between song and whisper, drumbeat and blood–a waltz of wonder. The wind of voices blows warmly.